Amor enim Angelus
by DorianGray91
Summary: "I am an Angel of the Lord," he growled, "and you are an impossibility. I will not ask again. What are you?" Silence dipped over them, and the cool night breeze chattered between their bodies in the patch of sudden gloom. "I prayed for help," she said at last, "I didn't think it would come so quickly. Or in a trench coat." Castiel/OC, set from 5x01 'Sympathy for the Devil'.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, Cass/OC fans! Just to say I've got big plans for this story so get ready for a great ride with lots of surprises! Thanks for checking this out, and please leave a little review if you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

**1**

_I know it feels just like the world is on your shoulders_  
_And you won't survive if it gets any colder_  
_Angels, wait for tomorrow, before you smile you gotta cry sometimes_  
_Angels, a new day will follow, even angels need to learn how to fly_  
_Some day you'll stand up, strong and unafraid_  
_And then you'll see the sun right behind the rain_  
_Spread your wings._

* * *

God was missing, but in this place Castiel could almost imagine that he felt His presence.

He had been wandering aimlessly in the first few minutes of his waking – waking, that is, from Death. The evening streets were unfamiliar, and his mind tumbled over its own thoughts until he could barely put one foot in front of the other.

Lucifer was risen. He had felt it the moment he began to stir, sprawled out on a bench like a common drunkard.

Lucifer free. Lucifer walking. This moment he would be circling his vessel. His backup body.  
Sam hadn't given in yet, and Satan was certain to have alternative plans. He would manifest himself somehow.

For a time Castiel was consumed by panic, drifting in a state of mindlessness, trying to come to terms with the appalling circumstances that loomed ahead. _Lucifer walking. Lucifer free._ And what was there to do? What hope was there?

His friends had failed him, after everything he had sacrificed.

Then, like a gift or a sign, the sound had enveloped him: a host of voices, harmonising the old language that was so familiar. They drew him softly to the Church and through its vast oaken doors, into the cool echoing hall, perfumed by multitudes of candles whose flames oscillated and blinked and bathed the walls in gilded loveliness. It was like a shadow of home, a child's imitation roughly sketched, but wholesome.

Lowering himself into a seat like an old man, the weight of the End bearing down upon him, he allowed the choir's ethereal tone to wash over his body and relax his weary limbs.

His brothers and sisters had been born in the whitest of light, and remained thus throughout the aeons. Somehow the dusky radiance cast by the candles appealed more to him. The fire was so human. It stretched back to the dawn of mankind. It was their essence – their burning spirits filled with passion, fuelled by their freedom. And it comforted him.

To know that there were creatures left in the universe neither Angel nor Demon, ignorant of the doom that hurtled towards them. Just one species of creation not intent on his destruction. To know that the love of their Father still inspired them to create, to conceive and to compose and to build things of such splendour and purity that would never cease to take one's breath.

The music swelled and undulated around him, and though it was not the music of angels, it held a beauty entire in its own right, natural to its own kind. Yes, it was comfort enough. He had been right to rebel. He had been right to cherish the lives of his Father's children, as he had been told to at the beginning of the world.

He had been resurrected for a reason. All hope was not lost.

Castiel's eyelids had been sinking in the bliss of the Divine lullaby, but he still caught the slim, stiff outline of a figure as it made its way falteringly into the Church. He immediately became alert.

The tranquil music did nothing to pacify the newcomer, whose hooded shape collapsed into a pew some way ahead of him, hands clutched together in apparent agony of despair. Castiel did not stir until he saw, black against the candlelight, their shoulders trembling with uneven sobs.

He should seek out Sam and Dean immediately – they must decide what their next course of action was. But in his gut he knew he could not leave without at least ensuring the stranger's safety. He spent enough time troubling over the greater good. He spent enough time denying his interest in human affairs – and not in terms of the Apocalypse, but their real lives.

He had just been brought back from Death. It was as good an excuse as any to take a minute for himself.

The slight body flinched and gasped as it sensed him, sitting only a foot away. He wondered if it would have been wiser to walk up the aisle properly – then his thoughts came to an abrupt and violent halt.

The figure had turned its head to confront him.

Castiel's first assumption was that she wasn't human. There was just something – not quite right – something _beyond_ – that made him start and blink in astonishment. He peered into her heart-shaped face for a long moment, working furiously to identify the otherness that emanated from her skin. The soft, shapely, regular features were saturated in unnatural splendour.

The closer he inspected, however, the more it seemed that he was looking at a mask, that all he saw was not all he should be seeing.

In the next instant, as she shrank from him, the sensation diminished. He frowned deeply. Her difference was unclassifiable – perhaps it was nothing of import after all. Perhaps she was just peculiarly pretty. Perhaps he was having symptoms of post-resurrected trauma.

She said nothing, despite his erratic manner of greeting. She only stared up at him with bright forest-green irises emphasised by dark rings. Her jagged look was so intense, so precise, that he briefly felt the cold point of a blade against his chest.

"Something terrible has happened to you," he murmured.

Her breathing picked up an even wilder pace. Castiel heard the clamour of her heart.  
"How did you do that?" she choked.

To a human involved in Heaven's plans he wouldn't hesitate to state the truth.  
But this was his experiment, his short time away from obligation. He wanted to be an insider. So he feigned innocence.

"How did I do what?"  
"You just materialised."  
"You are mistaken. I walked to the pew and sat down."  
"No you didn't," she snapped.

There was a short silence. She drew a quivering breath, passing a hand across her face.

"Sorry, sorry. I sound like a total freak."  
"Not at all."  
"But I'd believe you. If you said you'd just materialised."

He searched for the safest reply, decided there wasn't one, and stayed silent. Unfortunately she seemed to take this as an atrocious insult, and bit her lip as the welling moisture fell in sharp streaks from her large, wide-set eyes.

"I'm insane," she muttered, "I knew it."  
"I doubt that."

The look she cast him was scathing. "Don't. Don't try to make me feel better."  
"That wasn't the intended effect."  
"Please just leave me alone. Or better – take me to the hospital."  
"For what purpose?"  
"To have me _sectioned_, for God's sake."  
There was an awkward pause.  
"Please do not take the Lord's name in vain. Especially not on his holy ground."

This was apparently the last retort she was expecting. They sat as though frozen until she broke eye contact.

"You're stranger than I am," she said at last, "at least I'm not socially clueless."  
"Excuse me?"

She turned on him with increasing indignation. "Would you mind backing off? Please? You complete – _alien_."

He blinked. "I am not from another planet."  
"Didn't you hear me? I'm asking you to go away."  
"You are in distress. I need to ascertain your safety before I leave."

"Who made you responsible for me, Lancelot?" she bit back with what he understood to be sarcasm.  
"I take it upon myself. God has given me free will."

She gazed at him, tongue poised against her teeth as she took in this last statement.

"Oh no," she sighed. "You're a Bible basher aren't you."  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"You're a God botherer! Look, I'm in a frigging church, I don't think I need any more converting, thanks."  
Castiel's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Why would I – bash a Bible? It's sacrilege."

She appeared to change her mind again, as her full lips became a tight, straight line.

"I really don't need the piss taken out of me right now."  
"I am not taking your piss. Please listen to me, I am here to help you."  
"Fuck off!"  
"Please do not speak profanities in the house of God."  
"Again! Just – just – stop! Get away from me!" she hissed, stealing a glance at the choir, members of which were beginning to give them curious looks.

Castiel looked about him in frustrated hopelessness, sighed, and leaned closer.

"I didn't want to do this. You were meant to believe my amiable human guise." He reached out to touch her temple.  
"Wha-"

She didn't finish her word, but that didn't mean that they had moved anywhere. Something was wrong.  
Slowly, disbelievingly, he took his fingertips from her skin and scrutinised her as though seeing her for the first time.

A few seconds later she regained her voice.

"What the Hell was that? What are you doing?" she snarled. "Are you insane too? Seriously?"  
"I don't understand it," he whispered hoarsely, studying her with horror. "What are you?"  
"What am I? What do you mean what am I?"  
"I retained my power," he said blankly to himself, "at least to this extent. Why isn't it working on you?"

He stood uncertainly, and began to walk. He wasn't sure if he was trying to abandon the girl or lead her to a secluded location to continue uninterrupted. It would all depend, he supposed, on whether she was 'insane' enough to follow.

He reached the great oak doors when he heard a muffled curse and her light tripping footfalls. Unnaturally light.

Castiel kept striding in a determined fashion, on and on past the quiet unfamiliar streets, until the edge of a park emerged ahead. He took the small footpath and followed it under the trees and occasional lamp posts. Her nimble steps kept a wary distance behind him.

"Look," she called eventually, "I think it's obvious we need to go to the hospital together and just hand ourselves in."  
"Neither of us need medical attention," he came to a standstill in a yellow halo of lamplight. "In fact, I think if you were to let them assess you they would all have a terrible shock."  
"What?" she stood poised almost on her toes. "What does that even mean?"  
"You are not human. Kindly tell me what you are, and what you were doing in a house of God."  
"Of course I'm human! I'm human, you're human, we're all human, okay?"  
"You told me you believed that I could materialise."  
"Yeah, well, I've got a lot going on and my eggs are pretty scrambled right now."

Castiel sighed. There was nothing else for it.

The lamp above them began to flicker – it shuddered – and then exploded in a shatter of tiny electrical sparks. Lightning struck the sky and turned all of the leaves and grass blades to shocking silver, illuminating the face of the earth in violent radiance, as thunder rumbled overhead. Castiel unfurled his wings to allow the dumbstruck girl to see their shadowy outlines, each longer than his own body. Her eyes grew round, her jaw dropping enough to let her lips part.

"I am an Angel of the Lord," he growled, "and you are an impossibility. I will not ask again. What are you?"

Silence dipped over them, and the cool night breeze chattered between their bodies in the patch of sudden gloom.

"I prayed for help," she said at last, "I didn't think it would come so quickly. Or in a trench coat."


	2. Chapter 2

**2  
**_From the dust I rose on high, thunder cloud in a two-lane sky  
From the world I did rebel, a fallen angel  
A girl so strange I lost my head, lost it all, got left for dead  
I curse the day now I'm just a shell, a fallen angel  
When the brink of ruin lies, upon the world angels shall rise  
To lead the fallen now remember world, a fallen angel._

* * *

She sat quite close to him on the bench that he had led her to, her hood pushed back to reveal a wild tangle of chestnut-coloured ringlets, reaching to her shoulders.

Her otherness was plain to see now, just as he had first perceived it. She was too graceful, too quietly majestic for a human. Though she was shaken, there was a strength that held her nerves intact. He felt that he might stretch those nerves into infinity and they would never snap.

"But you said you were here because of free will," she spoke thoughts aloud as they occurred to her. "I thought only people had free will. And you look human. Aren't you supposed to be too incredible to look at? Don't get me wrong, you look fine – good choice of disguise – but I mean we're sitting in a park and what are we even doing here? Why are _you_ here? Are you answering my prayer specifically or were you doing your own thing and just spotted me? Why aren't you in Heaven? What's it like? Is it all clouds and gardens or is it unimaginable until you get there?"

Castiel patiently extended a finger and placed it over her lips. She ducked her head behind her sweeping side fringe and obeyed.

"My story is not of import," he stated. "Yours, on the other hand, must be unravelled. What are you?"  
"I'm a human."  
"Humans cannot resist Angelic influence. I should be able to move you."  
"But can't humans have powers? Like in Heroes?"  
"In what?"  
"Can humans have superpowers?"  
"No. There are humans, and there are creatures who possess power."  
"Oh."

She looked disconcerted – rightly so. Perhaps a softer approach was necessary. Her nerves might be indomitable, but she was obviously a sentient being.  
"What should I call you?" he asked in a conspicuously gentler tone.  
"Faye. You?"  
"Castiel."  
"Wow. That's weirder than mine."  
"Faye is lovely."  
"Yeah, but it's short for Fayebelle."

She looked as if she would say something more, but retracted the thought and crossed her arms instead.

"Faye," he murmured, "I will believe everything you tell me, and we will find out who you are together. Does that sound agreeable?"  
She managed a small smile. "That is the most _useful_ thing anyone's said to me in a long time."  
"Have you noticed any signs of – unnatural abilities?"

She barked a short humourless laugh. It was uncomfortable, to watch something so elegant turning so cynical.

"You could say, yeah. My friend was stabbed outside a club. By the time the ambulance arrived she was walking around, completely fine. Freaking out, but fine. She looked at me and she said, when I touched her, the wound just healed."

"When was that?"  
"A week ago. My twenty-first."

He hesitated, motioned to take her hand, drew back, deliberated, and finally did it.

"Your friend is lucky that you were with her," he said in what he hoped was a comforting tone.  
"She still can't talk to me properly. No-one else knows."

Faye studied Castiel's fingers, curled gently around her hand. A kind of energy seemed to gather as warmth blossomed between their skin. Sensing the tension in her muscles, he knew that she wanted to turn her palm upwards to return the gesture. But she didn't.

"The guy who stabbed her – I tried to fend him off – and when he grabbed me his veins turned dark, and he looked really ill. I mean on the verge of death. The cops just took him away. So – it looks like I'm a kind of life-and-death monster – right?"

Castiel resisted the instinct to snatch his arm back. Nothing had happened to him yet.  
"You seem to have control. You achieved the best result under extreme pressure."

"You say that like I'm not a danger to humanity," she mumbled. "What if it's worse? What if I'm a nuclear time bomb? I can't trust myself with anyone."  
"I feel fine."  
"You're an Angel."  
"My divine power failed to work on you," he repeated grudgingly. "Perhaps you are stronger than me."

A breeze lifted the branches briefly, and the sound of rustling leaves permeated the air. Faye stiffened.

"Do you feel like we're being watched?" she hissed.  
"Not really."  
"I swear I can feel things – _noticing _me." She stood and swivelled slowly, searching the trees and thickets.  
"Invisible?"  
"I don't know. I don't know where they are."

Following her gaze, Castiel discerned a pair of glinting lights leering out of the gloom of the woods, small and close together. More arrived, blinking into existence, scattered at different altitudes.

_So much for having a minute to myself_, he grumbled internally. _Two new anomalies in the space of an hour._

"We need to go," he was on his feet. "I'm not eager to find out what they are – or what they want."

In truth he was anxious to identify them – at least force them to reveal themselves. He ought to assess the threat they posed, if any. But the necessity of keeping this mysterious girl out of harm's way was more pressing, especially since they appeared exclusively intent upon her. He still needed to decide whether _she_ was a hazard.

Should he take her to the Winchesters?

He shuddered strangely at the idea, shooting a sidelong glance at the petite figure, sylphlike and vulnerable. He thought of Sam's late behaviour. He knew that Ruby had surely tricked the boy – he would still be recovering from his lust for demon blood - and when Sam was out of sorts, Dean would hardly be in a healthy frame of mind. They would kill her as soon as look at her, just to be able to focus on Lucifer without interruption.

What was the first thing that a hunter would do?  
"Where is your nearest library?" he asked.

She glanced at him incredulously before her green eyes flashed back to the darkness between the trees.

"At night? Right now?"  
"It may contain books of lore that will help us to classify you."  
"Classify," she echoed with distaste. "Fine. What if those – things – follow me?"

The 'things' didn't appear to be moving any closer. They regarded her with an eerie intensity of purpose, though whether that purpose was inquisitive or malicious was unclear.

"If they follow," Castiel rumbled as he grasped Faye's slender hand and set off down the path, "they ought to know that they are dealing with authority beyond their imagination. Heaven is not so easily perturbed. And as for you," he twisted his neck to glare at her abruptly, "you have as much reason to fear us. I should like to see you deflect the might of an Archangel. I belong merely to the mid ranks, and I am not as strong as I was."

She had nothing to say to that – she seemed quite incapacitated by shock.  
"Direct me to the nearest library," he reiterated.  
"Turn around," she replied, and with a sigh he doubled back to cut straight across the park.

He stormed onwards into the streets with Faye's unresponsive body in tow. He should be kinder, he knew. But rendered incapable of teleportation, stranded in an unknown place, tied to a creature that his friends would most want to hunt – it wasn't the best of circumstances.

"Could you –" she stammered, and he realised that he was pinching her far too roughly.  
His grip and his heart softened simultaneously. It wasn't her fault. She was floundering into the unknown.

Ten minutes of brisk walking ended at the locked doors of Elizabeth Public Library.

"How do we get –"  
She blinked, and then gaped at him through the glass.  
"So you _can_ teleport," she said, her voice muffled. "Right."  
"Stay there," he ordered, and marched off in search of some useful documents.

Faye's room was the only private place in her 'college halls', as she called the apartment. Castiel perched on the end of the mattress as she curled up by the headboard, trying to ignore the intimacy of the space, and together they scoured the two books he had managed to find. The material was hardly ancient, and barely academic.

"This isn't working," she stated at last, throwing the text down. It bounced and lay still on the covers.

He knew where he was much more likely to find reliable lore. But that involved travelling without her, and making sure he wasn't caught. Bobby Singer's book collection was his most prized possession.

Suddenly his vessel's stomach seemed to drop by a few inches. The air tingled around him. His head span.

"Zachariah," he gasped.  
"Who?"

Castiel unleashed the full, awful force of his gaze upon her. His features twisted with anguish.  
To delay by seconds was to risk the lives of his only friends.

"Stay in this room!" he commanded in a voice that made her cower. "Pour a ring of salt and stand inside it until I return. _Do not move outside of the circle_."

Before she could begin to question him, he was gone.

_Faye's POV_

Googling 'mythological creatures that can heal and poison' doesn't help as much as I hoped.  
I sit in my circle of salt on the floor, wondering what the hell I'm doing there, until it occurs to me to Google that as well.

"Huh."

Not exactly comforting, but at least I'm safe from spirits and demons – supposedly.  
I Google Zachariah just for the fun of it.  
Anything to keep my mind off the fact that I'm officially a freak. A massive freak with a freaky angel friend.

'Derived from the Hebrew זְכַרְיָה, meaning God Has Remembered.'  
There's all sorts of possibilities. Prophet, father of John the Baptist, king of Israel, one of the 'rulers of the house of God'.

I keep searching lists of magical beings for a while. No use. I haven't a clue where to start. It could be anything I have or haven't heard of.  
I wonder how much longer it'll be before I have a full-blown mental breakdown, right here, on my own, in the middle of a salt circle.

I can't feel them around me any more. No eyes glittering in the dark outside my window. I half wish they were – it's almost worse, the waiting, not knowing when or if they'll come, or what they want. It felt like more than just being watched. It was as if something – not someone – was prodding at me. Trying to get a reaction. Trying to communicate?

Maybe they don't mean to hurt me. But if Castiel is wary I'm not taking any chances.

"Hello again."  
"Jesus Christ!"

I jump a foot and a half, almost sending my laptop flying.

"Everybody always seems so surprised," he complains as the mattress squeaks under his weight. "You all know that I teleport."  
"I don't think people are waiting around every second for you to jump out of thin air."  
"Have you found anything?"  
"No. Have you?"

"I was a little preoccupied rescuing the Winchesters," he holds up four heavy tomes bound with leather, "but I stole these from Bobby Singer's collection on the way back. He will sleep for a few hours yet. We had best begin immediately."

He gets more bewildering with every sentence. It's like talking to a spaceman.

"Am I supposed to know who these guys are?"  
"No. You will not be aware of the events surrounding them."  
"What events?"  
"We need to focus upon your situation at present."  
"Why?" I fling back. "What's it to you? You're obviously in the middle of something else."

He regards me quietly, and I notice just how blue his eyes are when he forgets to blink.

"There is barely a creature on earth that can resist an angel's power."  
"So you think I'm a threat?"  
"Perhaps. You could be harbouring a dangerous subconscious alter-ego."  
"You said you thought I had control."  
"Would you rather I left it uncertain?"

I bite my tongue and shake my head.  
His eyebrows slant gradually outwards, until he looks almost compassionate.

"I sincerely hope you are benevolent. I want to help." He gestures to the salt. "In truth, I should be handing you over to my friends. They would be able to puzzle you out more effectively."  
"And they'd kill me on the spot, is that it? Do they hunt things like me?"

He glances away, nodding, and passes me one of the ancient volumes without another word. The leather creaks between both our grips, and I feel that same warm pulsating energy magnetising our hands together.

The corners of his mouth twitch. His body is braced against some impulse. Then he lets the book go.

"Castiel," I sigh as I slam the second tome shut with a clap like thunder. "If I'm in this book, there's not enough lore about me."

I rub my eyes, trying to keep them open. This is worse than college work.  
He's disappointed too. Not just that – he looks stressed. Really stressed.

"I'm getting in the way of your other stuff, aren't I."  
"Truthfully, yes."  
"Well then. I'm not keeping you."

He exhales, and shifts his position on the bed. It's the first time he's moved in hours.

"I don't think you comprehend the gravity of your circumstances."  
"No. Because you haven't told me anything."

He can't argue with that.

"Can you imagine," he says finally, "how rare and valuable a weapon you would be against an angel?"  
"I thought you said I'd be useless against a boss."  
"I can't be certain, and if I _am_ wrong you would be an unpleasant surprise to any one of them. We are accustomed to being all-powerful."  
"Oh."

He looks me square in the face. "In the foreseeable future, it will be considered a crucial advantage."  
"For me?"  
"For those who would want to use you."

A chill settles over me. "What foreseeable future?"

Suddenly, tangibly, I can sense the elephant in the room. It's been here all along, in the names he's mentioned, in the ancient volumes we've been poring over. Bigger than I wanted to believe. And much worse, from the way he looks. Like he's just witnessed a car accident or seen someone jump off a building. The kind of look that only means death.

"I should not be wasting time detailing this to you. I have decisions to make."  
"Maybe I can help."  
His stare is piercing. "Maybe."  
"So tell me."

There's a silence that lasts forever. He glances at me, and then at the floor, at me again, anywhere but me. Always with that creased brow and eyes like sharp edges.

"When I know what you really are," he mutters at last, "when I am certain that I can trust you."  
"Sounds fair."

He stays sitting there, submerged in his own worries. I close my laptop and crawl out of the damn circle to loosen my muscles.

"What's our next move?" I mumble.  
"I return these and borrow the next load. I will be gone for a minute." He rises but doesn't stretch like me. He doesn't seem to need to. "You should retire for a while, Faye. You look exhausted."

Considerate. I'd have expected him to forget that humans need sleep. Apparently angels don't.  
I nod, and he disappears in that horribly disorienting way. It always takes my brain a second to wrap around his absence, when all logic says that he should still be there, filling that gap in the room.

But I don't have a second to waste. I've got roughly a minute to jump into my pyjamas before I get caught half-naked by an angel of the Lord.

I'm brushing my teeth in the communal bathroom when I hear him, like the flurry of wings, or a long coat in the wind.  
There is a pause. I can feel him freaking out as he realises I'm not in my bedroom.

"Faye?" his voice echoes loudly around the flat. Footsteps reverberate down the corridor. "Faye!"  
"Sshhh! I'm here!" I hiss, too late.

Amy has come out to investigate the riot. I hear her surprised squeal at the sight of a strange man in her apartment.  
I poke my head around the door, and sure enough, more of my flatmates are emerging.

Great.

"Faye!" Amy raises her perfect eyebrows at me. "Who's the guy?"  
"Um."

"Faye!" Castiel interrupts in a severe growl. "I told you to get into bed."

My jaw drops. Amy grins. Her eyebrows are positively wiggling.

"He's a bit old," calls Jason from the other end of the hall.  
"Shut it!" I snap. "It's not – it's - it's complicated."  
"Sure," Amy sniggers.

This would so funny if only it wasn't happening to me.

"I met him in _church_!" I insist, making it so much worse. Amy bursts into a giggling fit as the rest of them exchange significant looks.  
Fuming, I shove Castiel forcibly backwards into my room and slam the door.

"Fantastic."  
"What did they find so amusing?"  
"You don't –"

I hold my breath as I glare furiously at him. It's not very effective. He's taller than me.

"I'll tell you one day," I huff, feeling bizarrely like a parent.

I chuck my toothbrush onto the desk, and it hits the tall stack of leather-bound books that he's brought back.  
I'm reminded of the real situation here. My flatmates are the least of our problems.

Castiel is right: I am exhausted. Mythological creatures are running circles on the inside of my skull. I'm irritable and overwhelmed. It's becoming a choice of either sleep or a meltdown.

Conscious of my bare legs and the fact that I'm not wearing a bra any more, I switch the main light off and the desk lamp on, and clamber into bed obediently. I actually haven't had more than five hours' sleep this week. My eyelids snap shut like iron hatches.

A second later the bed lurches and scrapes, and I sit bolt upright in terror. He's dragging me into the middle of the room, barely flexing his arm, like the weight is nothing. I wonder briefly what Amy will make of the noise.

"What?" I bark.  
He's already got the salt, drawing another circle around the entire bed. He glances at me once, nods, and retreats.  
I flop back down onto my pillow. I don't have the energy to be indignant.

Since my birthday the nights have been nothing but horrific. No, scratch that – since a month and six days ago, the nights have been beyond horrific. But tonight, even though everything is ten times more screwed over than it was, I know I'll sleep just fine. Castiel might be gruff but I already trust him more than any living person on the planet. I've seen the spark of human life behind his celestial show.

And hey. An angel is literally watching over me.

* * *

**Thank you so much to everyone who's shown an interest! The more reviews I get the quicker I update! x**


	3. Chapter 3

**3**_  
Standing on the backs of angels  
Destined to create  
Mounting the attack  
While heroes carry your weight  
We spiral toward disaster  
Survival fading faster_

* * *

It's still dark except for the lamp. I can't have slept for more than a couple of hours.  
As I groan and begin to stir I realise why I'm not still sleeping like a rock.  
Castiel stands over me, his fingertips prodding at my shoulder. He's saying my name.

"Faye," again, in that gravelly serious voice.  
"Nmmm?"

Nothing else. He just waits for me to come round.  
He waits a while.

"Must be important," I grumble as I prop myself up, "or I'm gonna kick you."  
"I may have found something. I need your help."

His tone is restrained - reluctant. Odd.

Squinting, I look to the desk and realise the lamp isn't the only light in the room. "You're on my laptop?"  
"I managed to navigate my way around the system eventually. I have found the internet."  
"Congratulations."

I squint less, and see more.  
Then I see everything.

"_What the fuck are you doing_?!"

I'm out of bed in a flash – the screen almost cracks as I slam the computer shut.  
That face, looking out at me from neat columns of type...  
Castiel gazes at me with open pity as I whirl around to face him.

"Fuck you!" I hiss through the explosive pain in my chest.  
I stay on my feet, forcing my legs to lock. It feels like my ribs are being cracked open one by one.  
This is why he told me to sleep. He wanted me out of his way. The sneaking bastard.

"I am sorry."  
"You have no right! _No right_ to pry into my life!"  
"It was necessary."  
"Get out."  
"You know I can't leave you."  
"I don't care!"

The locking technique isn't working. I manage to aim for the desk chair, rather than the floor.  
I breathe.

"How dare you – dig it up and just – throw it back at me?" I'm trembling all over. "_How dare you_? Do you know how much _effort _I've made?"

"The report said that there were markings carved onto her skin."

My jaw locks up where my legs just went to jelly. Typical. Now I can't even shout at him.  
The seconds tick over while he tries to figure out how to deal with me.

"I wouldn't have asked," he murmurs. "But it's important. Blood was taken from her. I need to know what those symbols were."

The tears come thick and fast. I wouldn't believe I could cry so much all at once, if I hadn't done it before.

"Don't make me," I plead through my teeth.  
"This is the key to everything."  
I feel the walls of the room fracturing, tumbling down around me. He's peeling back the last layer.

"Some psychopath played dot-to-dot on my Mom's _body _and then slit her _throat_. So fucking _leave it out_, okay? Leave her alone!"

His arms contract slightly at his sides. "I know she was your only family."  
"You don't know _anything_."

The words are incoherent – my chest jerks too much to let me string sentences.

"I wish that I could restore her to you."  
"I've been – _wishing_ – for a whole month. It only gets you – so far."

He comes to kneel in front of the chair. His eyes are both sharp and soft as they glare up at me.

"I thought that if I stretched you to eternity," he mutters, "your nerve would never break."  
"Not broken yet," I snort, but it comes out too high-pitched, unconvincing.  
He shakes his head faintly. "I didn't know how to approach the subject."

Silence.

"You need to be held," he states finally, like prescribing meds.  
"I'm fine. Just terrific."

Ignoring my protest his hands slide under my arms and legs and I find myself airborne, supported in the crooks of his arms. He seats himself in the chair instead. I am nestled on his lap like a child. Warm. Comfortable. Comforted.

He doesn't shush me or anything. He's not human enough to know the tricks. He just gathers me up in his trench coat embrace, my knees tucked into my stomach the way I need them, and lets me rest my heavy aching head on his collar.

"You can cry as much as you need," he remarks after a while.

He says so because I've stopped. Eyes closed, I simply huddle against his solid living body, and inhale, and exhale.

The contact is like morphine, too intoxicating for me to concentrate on pain any more. I've needed this. For a month I've needed to be a child to someone, anyone still alive, and had nobody to play the adult. I relax into him with the absolute trust of an infant. And the unfixable isn't fixed, but it's patching itself up by that one paper-thin layer, while I concentrate on the steady thrumming of his heart and the minuscule movements of his muscles, and the tenderness of his hand as it reaches round to hold the back of my head.

A minute passes. Maybe two minutes. Maybe half an hour.

"The shelf at the top of the closet," I mumble in monotone, as if it means nothing at all. "The box. It's got everything. Clippings. Photographs."  
"Thank you, Faye."  
"You can put me down. Just don't let me see. I never look. I just had to keep it."  
"I understand."

Gravity shifts as he rises and steps forward to place me onto my bed. I keep still, listening to his feet as they move away.  
The sound of the box being cracked open – the rustle of papers – his intake of breath.

A minute later, his weight creaks the mattress springs. His palm rests on my head again, smoothing my hair.  
"We're very close to the answer," he soothes. "Are you alright?"  
"Yeah… just tired. You tranced me."

That's part of the truth. I don't mention that brutally reliving my Mother's death all over again has taken everything out of me. I try not to think about her because when I do I just feel exhausted, bloodless, breathless, halfway to joining her. Some things you can work through before you put them away and move on. Some you just have to slam the lid down hard and walk away, and hope to God nobody mentions it. Ever. Sometimes that's the only way to get through fifteen hours of consciousness per day. And recently it's been a lot more than fifteen.

"You only slept for an hour," he insists, echoing my thoughts. "Go back there. I will carry on."

"I should help," I try to say, only half-forming the words.  
"When you wake I will have more information."

His hand withdraws and fades along with my senses as I give over to the pull, and dissolve into darkness.

I dream, and every fragmented scene is full of awful and certain terror.  
But it's always him, lingering, in the back of my mind. Protecting me from across the room.

Daylight slants onto the duvet. I forgot to close the curtains.  
I roll over, throw an arm in front of my eyes, and doze again.

Finally, it's time to get up. I can tell from the way the foot of the bed sinks and how my skin tingles under his steady gaze. I don't know why, but his distance frightens me. Perhaps the spell of the night has just worn off; perhaps he isn't into the affectionate side of things so much in the clarity of sunshine. Or maybe he's found something out. Something terrible.

Maybe I really am a monster, and he's getting ready to put me down.

"Are you awake?"  
"Yep."  
"Are you alright?"  
"Depends on what you've got to tell me."

I finally open my eyes, rub them thoroughly, and peer up at him. He looks the same as always. Dark windswept hair, neutral posture, incisive blue irises, unsmiling mouth. I wonder how many unspoken thoughts are going on behind that ambiguous expression. I wonder what he's seen, what he's lost, what he wants. My stomach does a playful little gambol.

It occurs to me that it might be a cardinal sin to fancy an angel of the Lord, which only makes me blush.

"I wouldn't have believed it, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Biblical proof." He slots his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees. "Those markings were not human. They were demonic."

I am suddenly very awake.  
"What – what does that mean?"

"Revelations states that out of six hundred possible seals, one may be broken with the blood of a creature from the second earthly realm, if the correct ritual is performed – that of carving specific _Gazachk_ symbols in precisely the right order and time." Castiel pauses, fixing me with a pained look. "Which part do you want explained first?"

I swallow. "What's the good news?"  
"Luckily there is some," he mutters. "The second realm is never discussed by the followers of God – predominantly because another deity occupies it."  
"What deity? Who are they?"

One corner of his mouth twitches. "You will know it as the realm of Faery."

I can feel my jaw dropping stupidly.

"Fairies? Like, _fairies_?"  
"The term covers many subcategories," Castiel interrupts.

He places yet another large leather-bound book on my lap, open to a particular page.

I catch the word _álfar_ and my heart picks up a skipping, uneven beat. Forgetting his seriousness for a moment, Castiel leans in to read with me, watching for my reactions.

"You see, the elves are naturally resistant to magic," he says to fill the stunned silence. "They were blamed for illness in the Anglo-Saxon era though they can have great healing power. They live in one of the nine worlds within the second realm."

I nod, and try again to say something. No luck.

"See," he begins to recite aloud, sounding like some dorky Dungeons and Dragons fanatic. "That which is called _Álfheim_ is one, where dwell the peoples called _ljósálfar_, the Light Elves – fairer to look upon than the sun."

My stomach flips again at the furtive glance he shoots me before taking the book away.  
I'm suddenly self-conscious, but at least it's something I can actually relate to. I feel human.

The world seems to jolt before proceeding in its own completely ordinary way. The sunlight still forms a square patch of yellow on my carpet. The sound of voices and traffic still echo from outside. Nobody but me has noticed that reality has just been upended, undermined, capsized. Again. I throw a look over my shoulder at the bookshelf. My Tolkien collection sits amongst the others, looking back at me innocently.

My little human self used to devour books like that, and wonder why Mom was never happy about it.

I don't know what else to do. So I laugh.  
I laugh quite a bit.

"D'you know," I splutter, "the _really_ fucked up thing is - 'Faye' _means '_fairy'. I mean, she could be ironic but – but..."

And then it hits me.

"No. Fayebelle. Faye-bel. _Fable_. She named me _Fable_. Because I'm a fucking _fairy tale_!"

Silence.

"Unbelievable," I croak.

"There's more," Castiel tries to explain. "You are obviously not occupying your true form. I dare say you haven't been anything but human-shaped since your mother brought you to the first realm as an unborn child."

Another bombshell.

"Wait, what?"  
"Your birth records have no paternal signature. No father was ever present."  
"Yeah, Mom wouldn't talk about him."  
"I can therefore only assume that your father was also aelfen."  
"Seriously?" I choke. "I'm not even half-elf?"  
"I think not."

I can tell he's getting impatient, but I can't help it. I pinch myself. I pull at my hair. I gape and shake my head and just keep on laughing, and laughing, with the occasional gasp of 'no'.

"What I am _trying_ to say –"  
"Sorry, sorry, but – I feel like someone's just dropped me into the fucking _Silmarillion_. No – in fact – I'm still asleep, aren't I? This whole fucked up thing is just messing with my dreams –"  
"- I am _trying to tell you_ that you have shape shifting capabilities, Faye," he growls.

I gawk.

"Well, there goes my last marble."  
"I knew it the moment I met you. Your human form is a shield to – dull your true radiance," he trails off.  
"That's… nice."

"My _point_ is that you could harness it, to take on the appearance of others."  
"Right," I breathe. "Right."  
"If you learn how to control a midway between forms – you could sway anybody. You could go anywhere unhindered. Elves are entrancing to humans."

_Only humans_?  
Woah. Definitely keep that question to myself.

He seems to be skirting around the topic too, because he quickly moves the conversation along.

"The outcome overall is very positive, Faye," he concludes with warmth, if not with a smile. "There is a reason your kind is called Light Elf. All mythology fails to distinguish clear-cut lines between the elves and your gods. Some lore suggests that you would equate to Heaven's angels."

Just when I think I've found my feet.

"So what, I'm like – a pagan version of you?"  
"You are everything a godly soldier should be. Physically and spiritually resilient, intelligent, agile, with keen senses. I would not be surprised if you were only _accustomed_ to sleeping for eight hours per night, and consuming three regular meals a day."

"And what about – last night, in the park – what were those things?"

I could swear his eyes actually gleam with some kind of humour.  
"Bathe and dress yourself," he instructs. "We're going back."

* * *

**I hope you guys liked the surprise! I am really excited to discover how Faye will slot into all those times that Cas just disappears off Sam and Dean's radar without reasonable explanation. There's so much potential for entwining her with their narrative and perhaps even altering a couple of things to shake it up! Please leave a little review if you're enjoying it! x**


	4. Chapter 4

**4**_  
Don't clip those wings of a flying  
When wearing your heart on your sleeve  
But still, there is life among dying  
The far cry off and make-believe  
He is the one enigma  
High flown beneath the sun  
Is he the last resort  
When the future has begun?_

* * *

Castiel was holding my hand last night as we walked through this exact spot.  
Well – more like pinched it – but still.

I haven't let anyone come near me in what feels like forever. My twenty-first was a flop even before Tasha got stabbed. The party was small, most of my friends were tired of looking after me, and I couldn't bring myself to enjoy the dancing or the mainstream music or the male attention. Boys gave us the look – sidled over to ask if they could buy us drinks – and I just pushed them onto my girlfriends and stood aside. I got really snappy with some guy who kept insisting, and he was gorgeous by anyone's standards. It all just seemed like a pointless show, a petty joke, compared to what was lurking over me.

Now an angel of the Lord leads me off the path into the trees, ignoring my nervousness, only occasionally looking back at me.

"You can feel it," he states confidently.  
"Yes."  
"They will appear soon."  
"Castiel –"  
"Faye." He stops short and turns suddenly. He's almost smiling. "Don't be afraid. Open yourself to it."  
"How?"  
"Don't tense."

His hands are on my shoulders: they loosen automatically under his touch. We stand face to face and I'm forced to look him square in the eye - there's nothing separating us but air, his expression clear and uplifting. Can he feel my heartbeat through his fingers?

"You will enjoy this," he assures me. "Relax."

I shut my eyes to avoid being caught up in the strange handsomeness of his features, to distract myself from the awful impulse to cross the small distance between us. Feeling his lungs expand and contract I copy their even rhythm.

It's here, circling me, advancing. With just a tremor of doubt I focus on it, imagining myself unclenching, like a fist flattening out and extending in welcome. It respond to me, creeping nearer and nearer, until I can feel it almost breathing down my neck.

No. I _can _feel it breathing down my neck.  
What's that whirring sound behind me?

Turning, I'm confronted by a tiny, blurry object fluttering a foot from my face.  
Instinctively I lift my hand, and the robin perches like a tame thing on my finger, gazing up at me with inquisitive, beady eyes.

"Look," the angel murmurs, one hand still lightly pressing my shoulder.

The woods around us are scattered with little feathered and furry bodies, holding to branches and trunks, sitting in the grass. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds, racoons, frogs; two or three of each. All making their determined way towards me. The goldfinches and red cardinals reach me first, taking advantage of my outstretched hand, jostling for space and chirruping up at me in what I can only interpret as an enthusiastic greeting.

I sit down, before I fall down.

"All aelfen lore emphasises affinity with nature," Castiel joins me on the ground, leaning against the trunk closest to us, as a rabbit hops right over his legs and into my lap.  
"No kidding," I manage.

He lets me wrap my head around things, faintly amused at the sight of me, small animals clambering over my jeans and top and balancing on my shoulders. I think of all the times I chased animals as a kid, wishing they'd understand I wasn't going to hurt them. Mom told me not to scare the poor things, like any mom would – but there was something in her voice…

"Why are they tame?" I ask eventually.  
"They aren't. You just share a common language."  
"Which is?"  
"They're all instinct. Base emotions. You radiate your feelings out to them, and vice versa."  
"They can talk back?"  
"Listen."

I do, and it's definitely there, all around me. One solid collective consciousness made up of all these little bodies. They think for themselves – I feel each little pinprick of life scampering along its own course – but they know what they belong to. A deeper, stronger resonance. It comes from the tree that Castiel is propped against, from all the trees, from the roots of the grass, and the soil, and the water. Fascinated, I begin to dig.

I feel the earth, its damp delight, the sprouts of life striving to surface. I feel the yellow warm light on leaves and their eternal stretch towards the sun. I feel the angel's spine leaning against me, the shape of his body moulded around the trunk. I can see – I can _see _him, from twenty different perspectives. I can see myself from below, from behind my own head, from in front of my face where my hand is still suspended.

"Holy crap," I mutter. "I've got way too many eyes."  
My own human ones are still open, unfocused, vaguely registering Castiel's outline.  
He stiffens, and I feel it as though it was against my own skin.  
"You have access to their senses? Their vision?"  
"Everything. Everything smells – feels – so much more."  
"Fascinating," he says with an almost imperceptible edge to his tone.

"It's like I've got access to all of nature's security cameras," I laugh. "This is beyond awesome. This is…"  
There aren't words, so I stroke the rabbit's ears with my free hand instead, and stop thinking.

"This good news is convenient," Castiel remarks abruptly. "I hear that animals are therapeutic – you will be needing them."  
"Oh." My heart drops like a rock. "Way to ruin the moment."  
"I wanted to afford you one pleasant experience before explaining my real purpose here. But I don't have the luxury of time."

There's a heavy silence.

"You mentioned – Revelations?"  
"The book of Revelations, yes. As I said – the blood of a creature from the second realm could break one of the sixty-six seals."  
"Which are?"

He drops his gaze, his jaw set. "Think of them as locks to a door. Six hundred were there, but sixty-six could open it. The first seal would be broken when a righteous man spilled blood in Hell… And the last with the death of Lilith, Adam's first wife, turned demon, who organised the breaking of the seals herself. Your mother was unfortunate to fall prey to Lilith. She should have stayed in the second realm where she belonged."

I try to gloss over the comment. "And the door? What's – what was – behind it?"  
His stare is agonising. "Lucifer's cage."

The animals all flinch at once. I block them out of my mind, away from the searing panic and horror.  
I want to laugh it off and tell him to quit pulling my leg. I want to tell him off for saying the unsayable.  
I want to run screaming.  
Run where?

I take a moment to tell myself that right now, I'm in the safest place I could ever be. With Castiel. This is as good as it gets.  
It doesn't make me feel the slightest bit better.

"Lucifer's free?" I repeat blankly. "Here? On Earth? Now?"  
He nods once. "The Apocalypse is upon you, and none of you even know it yet."

I try to think straight, but all that comes out is, "Oh my God."  
"God isn't listening," he murmurs heavily. "Our father is absent. The archangels are in charge."  
"And they didn't even try to stop the freaking _Apocalypse_?!"

Castiel winces and ducks his head. "I am shamed by my brothers. I suspected foul play but I followed my orders. When I contemplated rebellion they tortured me until I no longer desired to think for myself. I changed my mind at the last moment – I decided to help the Winchesters, but the damage was done anyway. Sam dispatched Lilith not knowing that she was the final seal. Dean arrived too late to warn him, and I was keeping Raphael at bay. The door opened just after I was obliterated."

"Wait, you were what?"  
"Raphael dispatched me."  
"Because he _wanted _the Apocalypse to happen?!"  
"It is written. Revelations states that Lucifer and Michael _will_ engage in battle again, and the Apocalypse will transpire. As God foretold it, so the archangels believe it must be. They would not stoop to allow humans – the Winchesters – to avert events that were predicted at the dawn of the world."

I don't bother to close my mouth. My jaw's only going to drop open again in another five seconds.

"So you were killed… but you're alive?"  
"I was resurrected."  
"By who?"  
"I believe… God."  
"God who's not at home right now?"  
"I think he still has a purpose for me. I have returned for a reason."

I hold on to the feeling of silky fur against my palm, stroking repetitively, and every so often a rough little tongue reciprocates my affection. Castiel was right. The animal therapy is sort of working. The rabbit is loving all this attention anyhow, and the birds seem content to hop up and down my arm, whistling and trilling cheerfully. Tiny noses tickle my neck and my cheek as chipmunks and squirrels explore all around me.

"So Michael and Lucifer will fight, and – if either of them wins, we all die?"  
"Half of the world's population will be killed in the shockwave of their combat. If Michael wins, we attain Paradise on Earth – and humanity loses its free will for good. If Lucifer wins, not one of you will survive. Hell will come to us instead."  
"Right," I choke. "Okay."

Silence washes over us.  
It all feels very far away, and not very real.

"So – how are the Winchesters caught up in all of this? Why are they the ones who tried to stop it?"  
Castiel sighs. "Now that – that is a very complicated story."  
"Try me."

"That's... That must be horrible for them. Finding out they're just readymade vessels for some – crazy Angel shootout."  
"They failed to stop Lilith," Castiel growled, unable to hear her sympathy. "They fulfilled their prophecy. It is their own doing."  
"It wasn't their fault, though. Not really."

He rose to his feet in anger with his fists clenched, and a couple of the creatures who had been so tame and patient under Faye's influence scampered away into the trees.

"Sam should have known not to trust that demon," he snapped, too disturbed to look directly at her. "Demons always lie. She turned him to deceit and he took the power she offered for selfish reasons."

She picked herself up, now cradling only the rabbit to her chest, like a favourite toy in the arms of a frightened child.  
"What about Dean?" she insisted.

He did not intend to turn on her with all the fury that was boiling in his blood. He did not mean to make her recoil.  
"_I betrayed my brothers _so that he could stop his! I sacrificed my place in_ Heaven_,so that he could _save his own kind. _He_ failed._"  
"Well, maybe if you'd changed your mind _sooner_ he would've made it."

He finally lifted his eyes to her, and caught her horrified expression. They stood in stunned silence.  
"I'm sorry," she gasped, "I really didn't – I shouldn't have said that."

She had said it because it was the truth, and because he had shaken her badly. He deserved the retaliation – but when she apologised she meant it. Her countenance shone softly with an ethereal sorrow, more beautiful even than the joy he had witnessed just an hour ago when the animals arrived. He found himself wanting to protect _her_, rather than defend himself. She was still so young, and coping with so much.

He shook his head gently, and offered her a small smile.  
"It's alright," he murmured. "You have never experienced Heaven's methods of law enforcement."  
"Was it – was it bad?"

In the Winchesters' company he may have tried to shield his pain. But she wasn't a Winchester. She was a woman, and more: she was a creature of the light. She had been born to enthral, to heal and to comfort. Her tender hands even now cosseted the bundle of brown fur that she held; it reclined contentedly in her embrace.

He needed hands like hers.

"I have never spoken about it," he said shortly.  
"Okay. But if –" she took a small step towards him, as though she would reach out to touch him.

He registered her desire to comfort him. _Him_. Even in the midst of all this chaos, where the stakes could not be higher, and he was the only one she looked to for guidance and protection. Even though she was in his custody. She saw past the dire events, past her own panic, past the difference of their species, and she wanted to make him feel reassured.

Nobody, he realised, had ever done that before. He was an Angel of the Lord.  
He did what he thought best and he paid the price for his transgressions. That was his job.

Dean had been angry with him for refusing to disobey, and never stopped to consider why. That was fine. That was Dean. He always had something to fix, he didn't have the luxury of emotional support.

Faye wasn't a hunter. All she knew was what Castiel had told her. All she wanted was to understand. All she could do, in the end, was to decide whether this encounter would evolve into a friendship or simply terminate once he had told her everything – whether she would go back to her life, or agree to the idea that had been slowly turning in his mind ever since he discovered her resistance to Angelic power.

She had taken another few steps, and now stood quite close. But she wouldn't venture further.  
Her maternal instinct to shelter him had been beaten by her intimidation. He could see the word 'Angel' written all over her cautious expression.

"Can we – sit down or – go somewhere?" she asked instead. "Do you want to get a coffee?"  
He nodded. "We will finish this discussion over your breakfast."  
"Like I could eat right now."

She placed the rabbit on the grass reluctantly, and together they made their way back towards the path.

Last night, walking in this exact direction, he had gripped her slight pale hand tightly, so as not to lose her.  
In his pockets, he clenched his fists again to rid himself of the restless itching in his fingers.

* * *

**As always, hope you enjoyed it and leave a little comment if you did :) x**


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